"Saturday then? C'mon."

"Busy."

"Busy? As in-"

"-As in 'preoccupied to the point where bar-hopping is definitely not on the list of things I want to do."

"A-ha! You said 'want', not 'need'! You're trying to worm your way out of this one, yet again!"

"Your – get your finger out of my face, Charlie – your deduction skills are truly unparalleled. Now, please".

"Showing your oldest friend the door, I see." A woman sniffled with an indignance so exaggerated, only the densest person alive would miss the sarcasm. "Enjoy your riveting evening with…"

"Dennis."

"The menace kid. Nice date. Then again, I guess watching a blu-ray is the closest you've gotten to dating in maybe…fine, fine. I'll leave."

True to her word, the tall brunette strides out of her childhood friend's apartment with the same amount of overemphasized irritation she used seconds before. However mad she's acting; her dark eyes vividly dance with mirth. The movie watching excuse was a quick lie, plastered on like a band-aid in haste. Usually May's lies have at least a small degree of likeliness to them, but this one was easily ripped off the skin. Her friend simply doesn't own a tv. She wouldn't give up. Like it or not, May would go out and have fun with her one day, sooner rather than later, and she'd thank her for showing her that there are other things in life than studying medicine in that personal library she'd collected over the years.

Sliding down on the other side of the closed door, the sigh of relief is tinted with regret. It wasn't easy having friends as an adult. Quite conflicting wanting desperately to connect with peers of your own age, yet needing to be alone most of the time. It was just safer on this side of the door where she wouldn't be subjected to everything she disliked about humanity. Gosh, that made her sound so bitter and cranky. Maybe she did need a drink. At least without the background noises of yelling and the disgusting proximity of people making out and slobbering each other's faces, it'd go down a lot smoother. Maybe she'd even go for a shower and put on a facemask and feel a bit fancy. Concerningly, she couldn't remember the last time she bathed. Maybe that was the other, subconscious half of the reason why she declined every offer to be social.

May pours herself two fingers out of a bottle of Yamazaki 12-year old that is getting worryingly close to the end of its lifespan. Lifting the crystal cylinder of drink to her chapped lips, she surveys the apartment, eyes burning marginally from the aged alcohol. It's not just her that could do with some pampering. Almost every surface in her apartment is littered with books, opened on pages where a specific term has piqued her one-track mind. Chiari malformation, an extremely rare condition rendering the patient unable to sleep. Chester porphyria…Kimura disease…Every word an excuse to go find knowledge and rely on the comfort of what she knows she does best. Investigate.

She walks over to a book of biblical proportions without registering any of the steps. Her finger traces a column of terms, each word and sentence raining into her brain, absorbed and forever staying there. Her memory is unparalleled, she knows this – but sometimes she fears that the more of these words becomes embedded in her brain, the more she forgets being normal. Like taking those damn baths.

Rather suddenly, May slams the book shut and the noise is deep, dull and determined. It would be the green tea face mask tonight.

Despite deliberately picking a soft chime as the ringtone for Charlie – there was a limit to how often she could stand listening to the TMNT opening without considering jumping out the window – it still startles her out of her sleep with the force of an earthquake.

Scrambling on the couch where she's dozed off, May glances up at the clock above the kitchen doorway. 03:33. She flips open the phone.

"If you aren't dying, I'll make sure-"

"Dude. Take the simmering pot of anger off the shtove, you're...you're going to want s..to hear this."

May sighs. She can feel the whiskey in her blood, her body still working to flush it out. It was evident Charlie was worse off than that.

"Are you drunk?" She asks, unable to keep irritation completely out of her voice and fully aware of the answer.

"Oh, I'm so dr-drunk. Drunk. Yeah…But that's not why I'm calling, bro."

May repeats her sigh and closes her eyes. Charlie always sounded like a male college student when her alcohol intake was way past the point of trying to have a sensible conversation.

"Why are you calling me at half past three in the morning? What is it that can't possibly wait-"

"Oh, shit! Hold- just wait, hold on…h-hey-" A series of loud scrambling noises comes through the speaker and May put her entire arm out to save her ear. Even at arm's length, the loud and obnoxious voice of a drunk man shouts at her with the same clarity as if he'd been in her living room.

"Yooo, May! It's May, right?" It sounds much like he's turned his face to ask someone a question, but she can't make it out. "Guess who!"

"I don't…know? Sorry, who are you? I don't mean to be rude, but actually I just woke up and I don't really know what's going on."

A pause. It seems too lengthy and the playful mood she's been forced into has suddenly flipped and switched into an awkward, stale thing. It makes her feel deeply uncomfortable with each passing second.

"You really can't tell?"

"Obviously not."

"Oh."

Another silence – if you can call it that. There seems to be a karaoke session of "Bad Romance" by Lady Gaga going on in the background, wherever they are. Her pulse is pounding in her throat and her face flushes hot. The voice is oddly familiar, but she still can't place it. She detests being put on the spot like this. Her friend has some explaining to do.

"Look. Can't you just tell me? I think you'd like to kill the awkwardness here as much as I'd like."

When he laughs, it rips through her body with a punch of familiarity so strong, anxiety cloys her senses and floods her mind. It was a small miracle she didn't drop her phone. The answer sits with bitterness on her tongue the very same second he reveals the obvious.

"It's Bill."

The heat of her pulse is instantaneously replaced with the sickening sensation of ice-water in her veins. It steals her breath, rearranges her scrambled, panicked thoughts and renders her completely and utterly mute. Whatever small gulps of air she's inhaling claws and rips the lining of her lungs. She's quite sure that eardrums don't spontaneously explode, but the feeling is there and she focuses her attention to draw strength into her arms so she can slowly, deliberately raise them to cup her ears. She drops the phone, but the voice of him won't go away. The 'what happened', 'hello' and 'are you still there's are much too audible for her to cope with and she finally stifles the noise with a succession of painful stomps of her heel in the general area of the hang-up button.

There is no silence after she ends the call. Everything aches and the voice of her rapist reverberates around the room to remind her that no matter what, the pain will never go away.

It's a few minutes before eight in the morning the following day when her phone rings for the thirteenth time. She knows this because sleep didn't come to her through the chaos of her emotions, so she latched onto whatever small thing still within her control. Blocking out every single call since half-breaking her phone with her now sore foot is within her control and she exercises it with no remorse.

Right now, the main reason for ignoring the vibrations of her silent phone in her jacket, is to focus on her subway order. She is starving, tired and desperate to carry her haul of chicken teriyaki to her apartment where she can at the very least be on her own.

"Hey."

Charlie stands behind her with every bit of her form emanating worry and bewilderment. May tucks her order in the oversized inner pocket of her coat and waits – for her to talk, for something to happen. Anything.

Charlie is nearly a head taller than May, so she slants her entire body and tilts her head as she faces her – a habit as old as the time they've known each other – and begins to talk.

"So. There's obviously something here you haven't told me." She crosses her arms across her chest. "I'm not leaving until you spill."

"Then you're going to be here for a very long time." May can't maintain the eye-contact and breaks free. It's a short walk to the nearest table, and she's far from sure why, but she sits there and instead of walking the few blocks home, she looks on with a rising pulse as Charlie orders herself a coffee.

She pants as she sits right across her. "You really chose the shittiest place to eat. I hate their coffee."

May looks her friend over and sees a neatness and perfection she knows she'll never achieve. Charlie's hair is styled perfectly and not a single strand is out of place. Her bangs are full and the rest of her hair reaches her waist behind the back of the chair. Her skin is unblemished despite leading a lifestyle with drinking at least two out of the week's seven days on average. Her legs are long and slim, at least two pant sizes smaller than May, and she dresses to perfection: slim acid-wash jeans, high-waisted, a lavender crop top and her dark navy jacket open to flaunt her figure, even in below sixty degree weather.

She knows if she were sitting in that chair across from her, the sight would be an entirely more displeasing one, yet despite this, she tries to envision herself. The ashy blonde hair, although more than shoulder length, is thin and a tumbled nest. Her skin would look fine if she'd take proper care of it, but she never does, and her eating habits that have always been a "whatever's closest"-plan has left her slightly chubbier than she'd prefer. Her clothes follow the same mantra as her food and she figures whatever she's put on today was probably in fashion when Obama took office.

Slow, fluid movements across from her steals her attention. Charlie fixes her eyes with a look in them as if prompting her to begin talking, as she pours a small measure of extra sugar in her paper-cup.

"I'm not ready to talk about this today." Her knuckles strain as the tightens her grip on her jeans underneath the table. "But I didn't hang up because of anything you said."

Charlie nods and bites her lips. She takes a sip. A frown appears on her face that has nothing to do with her over-sweetening her coffee.

"Something I did, then?"

"Not you."

"So, it's about Bill."

"Yes." May admits, eager to stop the cold sweat she feels from growing and becoming noticeable. "Yes, it's about Bill. I'm not ready to talk that thing, and I'm definitely not able at this point to talk to him. Last night when you put him on the phone to talk, I-"

"Was caught off guard." Charlie looks down and seems to discuss something internally whilst taking in the new information.

May nods slowly and wants to sigh, but doesn't. Instead, she swallows, and a fair amount of her anxiety goes away with it.

"I panicked. Like I've never done before, and I'm…" The sigh escapes her. "I'm really sorry."

Charlie rolls her eyes in an exaggerated gesture. "Please. I only called you about twenty times and thought you'd been swallowed by a sink-hole and died when you didn't respond. No need to apologize."

"Actually, it was thirteen times."

Charlie groans and then they both laugh.

"Okay, so no more Bill-talk then. But you have to tell me eventually, you know? With me being your best friend and all." She takes the last sip of coffee in her cup and makes a face. "Really though, this crap coffee…"

"Technically, you're my only friend."

"Exactly. Who else are you going to vent to?" She holds her hands up, palm side up, in a gesture to emphasize her point.

In her inner pocket, a very delicious and barely warm sub makes itself reminded as May shifts her weight. When she reaches for it, her fingers grace the rubbery part of her phone's casing.

"I'm pretty impressed with your timing. You managed to find me right as you called me one last time." She chuckles and takes her phone out.

"I haven't called you for almost an hour." They both frown and look at her phone.

"Wait. Who the hell is this?" Someone's called her twice this morning and the number wasn't one that she recognized. Regardless, the only one that called her regularly was Charlie.

"Shit, I thought you said I was your only friend? Cheating on me, are you?" The voice was light and joking, but May didn't miss the underlying note curiosity and worry. A sudden thought struck her and ignited a flash of anger.

"If you gave him my number, I swear."

"Are you kidding me? After you hung up and didn't answer when I tried to call you back? Give me a little credit here."

"Then, who-"

"Call them back and find out!"

Pushing hesitation aside, she hits redial. Both women exchange looks since it seems to take somewhat of an eternity for someone on the other end to pick up. But when it happens, May shoots out of her seat like a rocket. A series of niceties and a million "yes, absolutely!"'s later, she simply stares down at Charlie, her mouth open as if attempting to remember how to make sounds.

"Well?" Charlie prods.

"That was Princeton Plainsboro. They want to offer me that job I told you about ages ago. You know, the interview that I…I thought I bombed."

Charlie shoots out of her seat as well, possibly even quicker than May.

"Oh my god!" Her way too tall friend yells at the top of her lungs as she ignores their deal on minimal, physical contact and swoops her tiny friend into a massive hug. Everyone's eyes are turning in their direction, but for once, May doesn't care. Her head is buzzing with too many things: Excitement, anxiety, joy, worry and suddenly, the aftermath of yesterday's whiskey.

"I think I need some of that shit coffee."